Ever Stood
by astral-angel
Summary: Draco muses on his life...Part 1/1 up. Note - contains some spoilers for OotP...


Ever Stood Harry Potter 

**Disc: **None of the characters you recognize belong to me.

**Rating: ***R

**Note: **Just a short one-shot piece set in their seventh and final year. Becomes AU after HP: OotP. If you haven't read the book, I'd advise you not to read this unless you want to be spoiled. Also, this fic is kinda dark, and also leaves stuff kinda unresolved, but I more than likely won't do a sequel to this.****

Part 1/1 

{We never thought we'd get so troubled / We could never think that much / It should never get this bad / So let the wind blow ya, across a big floor / But there's no one around who can tell us what we're here for / Funny in a certain light, how we all look the same / And there's no one in life you can remember ever stood, for you, so / Shame, shouldn't try you, couldn't step by you / And open up more / Shame, shame, shame} **Shame, Matchbox 20**

He sat in the darkness, letting the silence wash over him. It had been so long since he had had time to sit down…to think. He stared out into the dark, inky night sky, an unreadable expression on his face. His eyes glinted in the dim moonlight, stark emotion swirling in seemingly bottomless pools of grey.

Draco smiled bitterly, his white-blonde hair seemingly silver in the glow of the moon. He was up in the Astronomy Tower, hidden from sight by the curving walls. From his vantage point he could vaguely see the grounds around the castle, the Forbidden Forest even more foreboding in the velvety darkness that cloaked everything. 

Scowling, his eyes settled on Hagrid's Hut, taking in the soft glow of the candles the half giant had burning. A sneer curled his lips as he saw the door swing open and then closed again without anyone appearing. It was probably Potty and Weasel under that stupid invisibility cloak of Potter's. Weasley could never afford such an expensive thing. 

Malfoy looked away, his mind whirling, his face blank. Everything had changed after fifth year, the changes not always good. Ever since Fudge had acknowledged Voldemort's presence, the Wizarding World had ascended into a state of constant panic. Hogwart's itself didn't escape unscathed. The muggle born's constantly looked over their shoulders, especially after the Creevey brother's parents were killed in a raid. 

The Slytherin frowned, his concentration broken. A pair of gold eyes stared back at him, his owl coming down to perch on the turret in front of him. Draco's gut clenched as his mind flashed back to the day he'd gotten it.

His father had been taunting him for days, threatening to stop him from attending Hogwart's until his mother had finally replied to McGonagall's owl and taken Draco to Diagon Alley for supplies. The seventeen year old shuddered, his mother's screams as real now as they had been that night so long ago.

That had been the first and last time Narcissa Malfoy had stood up for her son – it had also been the last time he'd respected his father. A cruel smirk appeared on Draco's face as he thought of how Lucius Malfoy was probably rotting in Azkaban even as he himself sat there.

His hand reached out to stroke the owl's feathers, his skin so pale it was almost translucent. His grey eyes remained fixed on his had, as his mind kept whirling. After fifth year and the fiasco with Umbridge, he had decided to go through his last two years as quietly as possible – the Malfoy name offered little protection now.

His robes slipped down his arm, exposing the tattoo that marred the whiteness of his forearm. He had been initiated on his sixteenth birthday, the Death Eater's showing up at the manor without any warning. 

Bile churned inside of him and Draco had to fight against the urge to vomit. Memories of last night's revel attacked him, seemingly seeping through his very pores. Disgust and shame filled him, Hermoine's amber eyes haunting him. 

How Voldemort's followers had managed to get their hands on her, he would never know. He could still see her face, the tears pouring down her cheeks. Her pleading voice echoed in his ears, rising to an ear splitting crescendo that had him wincing.

When the seventh year Gryffindor had gone from Mudblood Granger to 'Moine, he wasn't quite sure. There had been that uneasy truce through sixth year due to McGonagall and Snape's meddling, and then the shaky friendship that had kept him alive, kept him sane.

Draco closed his eyes, and then opened them again, her screams ringing in his ears. She had lost so much for him – the close friendship she'd had with Potter and Weasley long gone, because of him and he hadn't been able to save her. Had done nothing but watch while she was hit with the cruciatus spell over and over, while she was brutally attacked. He'd done nothing. 

Hot, burning shame filled him as he clenched his fist, the sharp edge of the knife in his hands gleaming in the soft light. Draco felt himself shift away, found himself seemingly outside of his own body. He watched himself with an almost morbid curiously as the knife cut through his veins, the deep red contrasting with the white of the skin.

Hermoine's screams flooded through his mind and Draco saw himself make another cut on his flesh. His hand moved continuously over his skin, cut after cut appearing. A slow quiet seemed to settle over Draco, his vision blurring. His lips moved, the silent apology spilling from his mouth as the blood spilled from the gashes on his arms.

As Draco's eyes slid shut, his owl cried out once, the plaintive sound echoing through the night. As the silence reigned once more, Draco's body slid soundlessly to the stone roof top, a growing pool of red surrounding him.

End 1/1 


End file.
